Sherlock and John: Two Sides of One Coin
by TechnoGirl317
Summary: Just a collection of oneshots from before John and Sherlock met each other; times where they felt another was missing, or that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. No slash, no pairings, minor fluff and hurt/comfort. Since it's a bunch of oneshots, the status is "complete" unless I'm working on a multi-part chapter. Title/idea based off a concept in Merlin, not a x-over.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Looking through my Sherlock ideas, found this one, decided to try it. You see, on top of being a Sherlock fan, I'm also a Merlin fan. I was thinking about Merlin and Arthur's "two sides of one coin" relationship, I figured that since Sherlock and John were so close so quickly, it could be a similar case. Whole thing is more a thought process than an actual story.**

**Oh, this chapter starts when Sherlock's around six or so. John is about ten, (because I honestly think John is 4-5 years older than Sherlock, and even if he isn't, that impression is burnt into my head.) Mycroft is about fourteen, and Harry roughly the same as Mycroft.**

**And I may use some British vocab for fun (ex: holiday instead of vacation). =D**

**Plus, in this Sherlock and John don't live far apart (same town, different parts), but they still don't know each other (you'll get why I mentioned that later).**

**Also note there is a cat lying on my arm as I type, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.**

**As always, no slash.**

**Enjoyz!**

**Disclaimer: I own neither Sherlock, nor Merlin (I have a reason for mentioning Merlin!).**

"Uhhhhggg," Sherlock moaned into his pillow after _another_ coughing fit, his sweat-soaked curls clinging to his brow for dear life. Of all the times to get pneumonia, it had to be during winter holiday, didn't it?

Yes.

And as much as Sherlock, being the typical 6-year-old (even though in most respects he was anything _but _typical), hated sleep, he found himself trying to do just that, if nothing else to escape the boredom of being bedridden, and to ignore the fact he could be studying snowflakes or tormenting Mycroft and his preppy friends right at that instant.

Not at _all _because he was tired.

So, ignoring the soup and books on his bedside table, Sherlock quickly drifted off to sleep.

And oddly enough, only one repeated thought ran through his mind; a name.

The name of someone he didn't know, yet felt was missing. Close by, but missing nonetheless.

_John._

**-Meanwhile, with the Watson siblings...-**

"Catch me if you can, Harry!" John called playfully as he ran away from his older sister, dragging his sled up the hill as he went.

"I'll make you eat those words along with the snow, John!" She called back, trying to swing her long, icy hair out of her face and attempting to hit the blond-haired boy with the snowballs she had made just before her brother had ambushed her.

The two siblings ran around in the sun, laughing and throwing (rather poorly aimed) snowballs at each other, Harry chasing John up the hill in a zigzag pattern, John going down an already worn-to-the-point-of-packed path on his sled, Harry following on her stomach, penguin-style, shooting up at the bottom, dodging the snow-man, continue chase.

Rinse, lather, repeat. This cycle lasted another few rounds before the two flopped down into a fresh patch of snow and started lazily making snow-angels, still laughing slightly, but quieting down.

A few minutes of comfortable silence passed, the brother and sister just staring up at the few clouds drifting by and smiling, when suddenly John sat straight up with a gasp, the smile deciding to do a disappearing act.

Harry sat up slowly and looked at her brother in a concerned manner.

"John, what's wrong? Are you ok?"

John looked around in a way that suggested he had lost something. Finally, staring in the direction of the richer side of town, he answered. "Y-yeah, I'm... I'm fine. I just feel like... like there's somewhere else I need to be, like I'm in the wrong place at the wrong time." He turned back to Harry, "It's probably nothing, but I also thought I heard someone say my name."

"Huh, that's weird. Was it mum?"

"No, it didn't sound like her, and besides, it's not even close to getting dark yet. It sounded more like a little kid's voice, actually."

Harry shrugged. "Strange. Oh well, that's happened to me before. Remember that time I ran off because I thought dad had called me? Then it turned out he hadn't yelled anything?"

John smiled. "Yep, I remember that. Pretty funny, if you ask me."

Harry pushed her brother playfully. "Yeah yeah, shut it." She said, an obvious laugh in her voice. "Come on, let's go down the hill again!"

"Sure!" John replied, standing up quickly but trying not to ruin his snow angel.

As Harry ran towards the base of the hill, John added a halo and wings to the angel with his glove-clad finger before straightening up and smacking his hands together to get rid of the snow and smiled.

Then he looked back to the other side of town. He didn't know why, but he felt like there was some place over there that he should've been.

"John, are you coming over here with that sled or do I have to steal it while you daydream about Emma?" Harry called, effectively snapping John out of his trance.

John grabbed the rope to his sled and pulled it after him. "I do _not _have a crush on Emma!" He called to his sister.

"_Sure _you don't."

John rolled his eyes. Girls. At least Harry wasn't afraid to get a little snow on her, unlike a lot of the girls at his school.

Throughout the course of the day, John glanced several times in the direction of the other side of town, trying to shake that earlier feeling.

** A/N It's a little strange, rather short, and sort of (completely) made up as I went along, but all in all, I'm quite pleased with it. Sorry the Sherlock section was so short.**

** Oh, if I do another chapter, the rolls will basically be switched. But note, the chapters aren't in chronological order. One may be like this, with 6-year-old Sherlock and 10-year-old John, while the next may be 10-year-old Sherlock and 14-year-old John, and the next may be back to the ages in this. So yeah.**

** Hope you enjoyed! Reviews or anything else are appreciated, and ideas extremely welcome.**

** This will probably stay rated as "complete" because it's mainly a one-shot collection. If I'm working on a two-shot, it'll temporarily change to "in-progress." Don't let that discourage you from following! ;)**

** Happy Thanksgiving! (And Winter Break/holidays! Seriously, that's the only reason I had time to write this!)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry, guys. Been busy. Anyway, I'm considering ditching my idea of having this just be random oneshot moments and simply turning it into a events-leading-up-to-AU-meeting-as-kids fic, and continue it from there, since my mind automatically started wanting to clue John and Sherlock in. Then I can have other moments (such as when John was shot) separate. Good idea? Please let me know!**

**Anyway, I'm not entirely sure where this one came from. But I like it. This is maybe a month or so after the last one. **

**Oh, and just a warning in advance, I seem to like Sherlock-whump (right word?) because it tends to bring out the human side of everyone. If you want a John-injury/illness chapter, let me know and I'll try. ;)**

**Another little detail: in this, Sherlock goes to a private school and has skipped at **_**least**_** one grade. John, on the other hand, is normal; public school, typical grade for a 10-year-old. **

**Also, I **_**promise **_**I meant to update ESoS the other day, but hasn't been letting me get to the Manage Stories tab. Anyone else?**

**Warnings: guns and school shootings, but nothing too graphic and no deaths. Speaking of which, please pray for the families affected by school shootings. **

** Sherlock's POV**

_Dull, dull, dull, dull, DULL._

The steady mantra kept running through my head as my teacher (whose name I accidently-on-purpose deleted) lectured us about pronouns and adjectives and other stuff I would just delete after the test. I was staring almost imploringly at the clock, which seemed to stubbornly hang around the 11:45 mark, when suddenly...

_ Beeeeep!_

"Attention student's, please assume lockdown positions. This is not a drill, repeat, _this is not a drill."_

The loudspeaker blared. We all quickly got under our desks as the kids in back pulled down the shades and the teacher covered the window on the door. Then the room descended into tense silence for a few minutes before it was broken with a loud

_BANG BANG BANG!_

Someone was knocking on the door, but it sure sounded more like they were trying to break it off its hinges.

Suddenly, the deafening pounding stopped and there was a collective, if not quiet, sigh of relief; even I joined in!

But then, the pounding returned, and soon enough, the sound of splintering wood accompanied it.

So they _were _trying to break down the door!

I tensed up and looked around nervously. A few of my older classmates (yes, I had skipped a grade or so) were shaking, others crying silently, as the splintering continued to ring through the silence.

It didn't take long for the door to break apart, and in charged a large (by that I unfortunately don't mean fat, but talk and heavily muscled) man with long, dark, unkempt hair and a haggard look in his eyes. He also had a gun.

_Well that didn't work. _I thought, referring to the whole lockdown. _He still got to us. _

The man's wild eyes locked onto mine, and my breath froze in my throat.

Only to start up again much faster than normal as the guy showed a sadistic smile and aimed the gun. Oddly, though, he didn't aim it at me, but at a random girl on my right.

As though in slow motion, I saw the man start to pull the trigger and I jumped in front of the girl.

_What the _heck _am I doing?! _I only had time to think that before the bullet slammed into my shoulder and I landed on my back, staring into the shocked, wide-as-dinner-plates green eyes of the girl I had just saved.

And then the pain started to set in. Try as I might, I couldn't hold back the scream that was trying to explode out of me.

I only vaguely noticed the blood dripping from my shoulder, barely noticed the man who had shot me being cuffed by the police who were always in the school for safety lessons and emergencies, only dimly heard sirens and felt paramedics lifting me onto a stretcher.

_JohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohnJohn_

Since that bullet had hit me, the same name that had been repeated in my mind when I was sick a month or so ago, and occasionally ran through it at random times, was cycling around in it again, as steadily as the _dull _"mantra" had before the loudspeaker announced the lockdown.

Before long, though, I blacked out.

**John's POV, 3:30 PM that day.**

I heard another car door slam and jumped, rubbing my shoulder again; there had been a dull ache in it since about 11:50 or so. I'd been jumpy and nervous since the ache started, but I had no idea why. All I knew was that something was wrong.

Very, _very _wrong.

I also heard a little kid's voice calling my name again, just like a few months ago, but this time it sounded more in pain and as it quieted, all it did was make me even more anxious.

It was strange, though. Within the past few months, every time I thought of the first incident, two letters flashed in my mind: SH. And it had been doing it again today. It sounded crazy, but I bet those were initials. And besides that, I realized all this had happened before then. Not often, but it had.

I was surprised none of my family had noticed, because whenever it happened, I normally zoned out, concentrating on... something. I didn't know what, but my mind subconsciously deemed it important enough to give it my utmost attention.

The sound of my sister, Harry, crashing through the door, early from her first tutoring session with her new tutor, made me jump violently, right off the chair.

She looked at me with a somewhat amused look on her face. "Jeez, jumpy, are ya?"

I stood up and brushed myself off. "Since noon." I muttered, then asked, "Why are you home so early? You had another hour or so to go."

She shrugged, but looked concerned. "Mycroft had to go. His six-year-old brother had gotten hit in a shooting at that rich private school. Apparently, he had jumped in front of the girl the shooter was aiming for."

I stared, more worried than I probably should've been. After all, I didn't know the kid or his family, nor did I go to the targeted school; but still, I was almost frantic. "Is he..."

Harry answered the question I couldn't bear to finish. "He's alive, just got a pretty nasty hit to the shoulder. He should be fine."

_Should be. _I thought. Than something occurred to me.

It was a long shot, a _very _long shot, but I had to ask.

"What're his brothers initials?"

I mentally kicked myself at the realization that I could've just asked for his brothers first name and gotten the same information without sounding as weird; after all, I knew Mycroft's last name started with H, unless _Holmes _was spelt different than it sounded. Which was doubtful..

Harry squinted at me. "No idea. Why?"

I shrugged and tried to appear nonchalant. Harry gave me one last weird look and walked away.

_Darn it!_

So much for that plan.

But I could _swear _the name Mycroft Holmes was familiar, and at the same time was certain I had never heard it.

I also felt a slight pang of annoyance when I heard it. Again, no clue.

Sighing, I stood up from the table and went outside, starting to walk around aimlessly, until a certain thought made me stop dead in my tracks and facepalm.

_Duh, it's the 21st century! Why don't I just look Mycroft up?_

I dashed inside, past my sister (who looked like she was dying to ask, "Where's the fire?"), and into my room, plopping down on the spinning desk chair and turning it on.

After I got past the password screen, I started tapping my fingers, waiting for the desktop to load, then the browser, then, after typing in Mycroft Holmes, waiting for the results to pop up.

I scanned until I found his facebook page. Clicking the "about" tab, and not finding a brother, another realization hit me smack in the face. _Hello, idiot! Yeah, my name's John, and, here's a wake up call! __His brother is six years old.__ Fat chance finding him on facebook, but did you ever think of today's news reports? The kid saved a classmate from getting shot by jumping in front of her! Jeez, smarts._

I had to stop myself from banging my head against the wall at that one, and instead went back to the URL bar and typed in the name of the school Harry had been talking about.

Clicking the first video that mentioned a shooting, I watched as a little kid with dark, curly hair was wheeled into an ambulance and ignored the reporter going on about the hero story.

_Obviously her first big report._

I went back and paused the video where it gave the clearest shot of the child, and just stared. Even with the pasty, too-pale skin, closed eyes, and blurred picture, there was something about that six-year-old that I couldn't explain. I felt like I knew him, even though this was the first time I saw him, I felt like I knew even to know that this was... _wrong. _He looked too pale, too small, too _still..._

Something told me this boy was never still of his own terms.

And I felt the sudden need to be by him.

I went back to the beginning and started listening for the boy's name, but, unfortunately, it wasn't mentioned.

_Darn it! Darn it, darn it, darn it!_

About forty-five minutes later, and I still couldn't find the boy's name. I was rather frustrating, but decided to call it a day, try another time, or just wait at that private school next week and look for a 6-year-old with curly black hair and a bandaged up arm.

Yeah, cause that'd work.

I decided to just ask Harry ask Mycroft for his brothers name and hope she did it, then sat flopped down on my bed with a book. I looked up at the clock, sighed, and thought, _three, two, one..._

"John! Time for dinner!"

"Right on schedule, Harry." I muttered, and went downstairs.

When the conversation turned to the shooting, I asked my parents if they knew the kid's name. They didn't, so I lost interest.

That night, in bed, I felt more than ever that the name was right on the tip of my tongue. "Shhhr... ugh, nope."

I sighed, rolled over, rubbed my shoulder again, and just gave my thoughts free reign.

They kept wandering over to the kid, but now, I could at least give the initials SH a face.

And I was almost certain of his last name: Holmes.

**Um... just roll with the facebook thing.**

**Hope you like it, sorry for the wait, and sorry if it sucked! I don't know when this gained a plot.**

**Any suggestions welcome, since I'm out of ideas, and I'll try to work on ESoS and CN.**

**See ya!**


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